The Judge and the Gypsy (18 page)

“Don’t die, Rasch. I won’t let you! I need you!”

There was a time when she’d set out to kill him, to
take revenge for her brother’s death—before she’d begun to understand the man, to know how important he was in her life. Since she was a child, she’d closed off her own needs in order to take her mother’s place. She didn’t need to do that anymore.

All she needed for her entire life was in her arms, her crusader who’d charged to her rescue again.

At least Rasch was still breathing. It was the lump on his head that she was worried about, and the cold, clammy feel of his skin in all the heat.

“Oh, Rasch, you crazy, wonderful fool. You’ve gone and hurt yourself on my account—bad.”

“Gyp … Gypsy … love you.”

She heard his gravelly whisper. At least she thought she did, but he lapsed into unconsciousness again, and this time she thought he had died.

Climbing to her feet, Savannah raced back to her trailer. She had no phone and no transportation. She couldn’t call for help. “Oh, Niko, please hurry.”

Gathering up blankets and wet towels, she started back across the compound. Just as she reached the woods, she heard the sirens. In amazement she watched as a fire truck, two police cars, and an ambulance raced across the field. Savannah began to wave her arms. The rescue van screeched to a halt, and the paramedics piled out.

In less than five minutes the fire was under control. Rasch had been loaded into the wagon, and they were racing down the highway to the hospital. The paramedics recognized the man they expected to be the next governor, and worked feverishly on him all the way.

The emergency room was waiting for them, personnel standing by to take Rasch in to the waiting
doctors, who set events in motion. Savannah collapsed in the waiting room, covered with soot and paralyzed with fear. The admissions clerk came over and sat down beside her, clipboard in hand.

“Could you answer some questions, Ms. Ramey?”

“Ms. Ramey? You know who I am?” Savannah was confused. Had Rasch regained consciousness?

“After the judge’s press conference today, everybody in the state knows who you are.”

“What press conference?” The woman was talking about press conferences when Rasch might be dying.

“Honey, he told the world today that he was going to marry you. If that meant he wouldn’t be governor, he’d do something else. If they don’t want him to be a judge anymore, that’s fine too. I think it’s wonderful, offering to give up everything for love.”

“Rasch stop being a judge? No, I won’t allow it.” She charged to her feet and paced angrily back and forth. “How dare he even consider such a thing! He’s fair, and kind, and he’s honest. What else would you want in a judge?”

“Not a thing, honey. Nobody’s going to let them throw him out of office. The people elected Horatio Webber as judge, and the people are going to elect him governor. And you’re going to be the governor’s lady.”

The doctor finally decided that except for a mild concussion and some sore ribs, Rasch would be as good as new after a full night’s rest. He was half asleep when Savannah opened the door to his hospital room. He didn’t have to open his eyes; he recognized her exquisite smell.

“Tea olive blossoms. Gypsy? Gypsy, you’re all right?”

His kind gray eyes struggled to open as Savannah leaned over him.

“Of course I’m all right, you insane, beautiful man. What did you think you were doing?”

“Saving you. I thought you were inside, with your batons. The tent was on fire.”

“And you climbed up the ladder to rescue me.”

“Of course. We’re going to get married, you know.”

“I know. The entire world knows, Horatio Webber. You held a press conference, remember? It’s on the front page of the evening paper, and on every newscast from here to the state line.”

Rasch smiled. “Well, I thought it would be easier that way. Have I told you that I love you?”

“I think you did.”

“Did I ask you to marry me?”

“No, I think you just told me that I was going to.”

“Did you say yes?”

“I haven’t yet.”

“But you will. We belong together, Savannah. I think we ought to get married right away. Send for a judge.”

“You’re a judge, darling, couldn’t you marry us?”

“Not legally, but if you’ll crawl into this hospital bed with me, I’ll perform a temporary ceremony, just till we can do it right.” He unsuccessfully fought back a yawn, and felt his eyes closing in spite of his attempts to stay awake.

But they were connected. Savannah was there, holding his hand, and even in sleep he felt her presence.

Savannah considered his request. She might have
joined him, but he needed his rest. Besides, she didn’t need anybody’s approval. Rasch wanted her, and she wanted him.

That was all either of them needed, even without a Gypsy spell. They’d known that from the beginning, hadn’t they?

The chrome clock chimed the hour: midnight. A wall of blooming tea olive trees planted in big tubs edged the patio, saturated the air with their sweet fragrance. There were tiers of candles casting crazy shadows on the floor and sending little puffs of smoke into the June night air.

Savannah stood on the patio in a blaze of moonlight, gazing into the eyes of the man she was about to marry. Her black hair was as fine as gossamer silk, woven with lace and silver ribbons. Her wedding dress, made of chiffon, draped her body like a hundred shimmering veils, sprinkled with moondust and stars. She carried a bouquet of pink roses interspersed with dark green leaves and the tiny clusters of blossoms from the tea olive trees behind them.

Rasch stood proudly beside her in his white suit. There was one sweetheart rosebud and a green stem filled with tiny tea olive blossoms tucked into his lapel. She allowed her eyes to feast on the picture of this beautiful man whose hair had grown long again, curling along the top of his collar, its pale color catching the light of the moon and turning into spun gold in its illumination.

Free and wild.

The past touched the present.

Silver melded to gold.

The judge and the Gypsy joined their lives forever in a ceremony they wrote themselves. They promised honesty and commitment, love and devotion, and a lifetime of enchantment to each other.

Afterward, Niko, Jake Dalton, the Vandergriffs, a few judges, and Rasch’s election committee joined the members of the press in toasting the bride and groom. There was a wedding cake with fig icing and punch flavored with pomegranates. “Fit for the gods,” Rasch insisted before making a second toast to the absent Alfred Ramey and Zeena, who had telegrammed their best wishes from Hungary.

The next night, beside Shadow Lake, beneath a sky filled with glittering stars, Savannah and Rasch pledged their love in the light of a Gypsy moon. Savannah donned her red print skirt and peasant blouse and shyly danced for her chosen mate around the open campfire, speaking the words of the heart with her body as she made her pledge of eternal love.

The only music was the sound of her ankle bells, the wind in the trees, the water lapping at the shore, and the castanets she carried in her hands. With time-treasured moves she wove her spell of love and desire, until at last Rasch reached out and caught her hand, bringing her into his arms, against his heart.

“My Gypsy woman,” he whispered as he covered her mouth with his lips. “Mine. It was here, that first night, that I fell in love with you. I wanted you then, but never more than now.”

Rasch removed their clothes, checking his impatience to feel her bare skin against him. Threading his fingers through the strands of hair across her
shoulders and down her back, he took her lips gently, his tongue moving lightly inside her mouth.

Savannah moaned as Rasch pulled away and nibbled along her jaw and down her neck. Every touch was a slow, seductive movement, as if he were choreographing it to music—touching, building, then pulling back. She shivered deliciously as he caught her nipple inside his hot wet mouth, then released it over and over again, then moved down her body in lazy, delicious exploration.

As he touched her, it was as if he’d joined her dance. Slowly, sensually, with his body and his heart he loved her. And every part of her was responding; a tingling weakness changed into a jolt of sensation as he slipped his hand between her legs and parted her, dipping into the trembling valley now arching to meet his touch. His other hand found her breasts and brushed her nipples gently with his fingertips while the lower hand slid away to allow his lips to caress the core of her desire.

“Rasch …”

“What, sweetheart?”

But she didn’t answer. Instead, Rasch heard a low, sweet moan as she began to tremble. He was only now beginning to understand what it meant to give pleasure, to find joy in giving joy.

“Oh, Rasch,” she said hoarsely as his lips began to move back up her body, leaving her hot and aching. “What kind of magic have we found?”

“It isn’t magic, Gypsy, it’s love. Everlasting love.” Rasch moved over her. “Tell me that you love me, Savannah Webber, as much as I love you.”

“Oh, yes.”

As if in a dream, they joined and soared to the
heavens, surrounded by midnight sky and stars so close that they could reach out and touch them. There was a heat that grew ever more intense, releasing into a shuddering arc of pleasure that showered the night with fire. Then, in a dreamlike state of fantasy, they fell back down, down, down, to earth and reality.

The lake took form once more. They were lying on the open sleeping bag, naked bodies entwined, sated with the rhapsody of their love.

How much he loved this woman, how right they felt together.

“Oh, Rasch, look!”

Two shooting stars fell dramatically across the heavens, followed almost immediately by a virtual shower of iridescent light.

“A rocket,” Rasch said, “releasing a barium cloud.”

“Oh, no,” Savannah corrected him. “It’s the North Star. She’s been freed to follow her heart. Don’t you see? All the heavens are celebrating.”

“Of course. They’re watching us.” Then, growing serious, he said softly, “You won’t regret closing the circus?”

“Perhaps,” she admitted, folding her arm across his chest. “But the loss of one part of life opens a door for the next part to begin. You’re going to be the best governor the state has ever had. And I’m going to teach children who need to learn to dream.” She sighed. “Oh, Rasch, you’ve made me feel so cherished. I never knew that love could be like this. The only regret I have is that Father and Zeena aren’t here.”

“On our honeymoon?” Rasch gasped.

“Of course not! You know what I mean. I want them to know how happy we are.”

Rasch smiled. “My darling Gypsy, I have the feeling that they already know.”

Then Savannah was sliding over him, tasting, examining him with her tongue. Her dusky-rose nipples skimmed his chest. “You’re right. You know, Crusader, you called me Gypsy, but it was you who cast the spell, a spell of place and belonging.” She smiled and claimed his lips for a moment, released them and moved on to skim his eyebrows with her lips.

“A spell of place and belonging,” he repeated, and felt a great wave of understanding sweep over him. That’s what he’d been seeking too. He’d tried to make it happen with a system of laws and justice, but it had taken a Gypsy woman to teach him that real belonging was a place in the heart.

“We’ll name our first child Atlanta, for the city in which she’s born,” Savannah mused. “I hope you don’t mind continuing the Ramey tradition?”

“Tradition. I think I like that.”

“Good.” She slid lower, catching the male part of him in the lovely crease between her legs. “Then it’s all right with you that our first child will be a girl?”

“A girl?” Rasch knew he was smiling. “That’s wonderful! How do you know?”

“I know,” she said quietly as she lifted herself over him. He tried to remain still as she lowered her body, slowly, maddeningly, imprisoning him inside her body.

Rasch didn’t doubt her knowledge. “What about the second? I haven’t said anything, but—Washington might be nice.”

Her lips moved across his forehead and down his neck. She could feel his body begin the motions of love beneath her.

“Washington? Senator Webber? I quite agree. After that,” she whispered, tightening her muscles about the deep, pulsating heat that moved insistently against her, “who knows? Jupiter, or maybe Orion. Ah, my darling Crusader, the galaxy has no limits for the judge and his Gypsy.”

Welcome to Loveswept!

The chill of fall is in the air, creating the perfect setting for romance readers to snuggle up with a good book. And as luck would have it I think
Loveswept
has the perfect book for you! As you sharpen your skates, Erik is already on the ice in Toni Aleo’s next installment in the hockey
Assassins Series
,
BLUE LINES
. Reviewers rave about Toni’s characters and the emotional depths she takes them to. Introduce yourself to this ice-melting series beginning with:
TAKING SHOTS, TRYING TO SCORE, EMPTY NET
, and
FALLING FOR THE BACKUP
– you’ll see what all of the excitement is about.

And, the romance never stops – don’t miss:

Fran Baker’s
SEEING STARS
, a seductive tale of first loves and second chances; Sandra Chastain’s
FIREBRAND
, meet a sexy rancher Rusty Wilder – gotta love a man in cowboy boots! Sandra’s classics continue with
THE JUDGE AND THE GYPSY
, when payback turns to passion; and
THE LAST DANCE
, another installment in Sandra Chastain’s
Mac’s Angels
series! And, readers have never forgotten Iris Johansen’s bestselling
Loveswepts
including,
MATILDA THE ADVENTURESS
, a
Delaney’s of Killaroo
sequel.

Love doesn’t end here because there’s more next month!

Happy Romance –